


just like heaven.

by junaiiper



Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cutesy, Family Issues, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, conor is v sad and eamon is v gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junaiiper/pseuds/junaiiper
Summary: Conor's sick of his parents fighting, so he spends the night at Eamon's.





	just like heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> this is unedited sorry for any errors !

At eight pm, Robert and Penny Lawlor begin their nighttime ritual of expressing their extended vocabulary of nearly every curse known to man. 

Conor’s hiding in his room, door shut, doing his absolute best to tune out the shouts of his parents – if you can even call them that anymore; they’ve recently become more of an unnecessary nagging figure in his life, barely acknowledging his existence. 

The strum of his guitar clashes with the cursing, sounding a bit like a siren, wailing into the darkness of the night. 

He needs to get out of here. 

-

At half past nine, Conor's at his best mate’s door, swinging open after the second knock. Eamon has a knowing look on his face, letting Conor in – no explanation needed. 

It’s funny; the two have only known each other for a little under a year, and still, they act in accordance with one another, verbal communication during late night visits like this is rarely common. It’s as if they’ve known one another for their entire lives, how well they understand each other. 

-

At ten, Conor’s gone and lain across his friend’s lap, as Eamon strums a tune on his guitar that Conor just can’t place. It’s pretty, and Conor finds himself humming along to it quietly.

He looks up at Eamon, still playing with closed eyes, and brushes a stray lock of hair from under his glasses.

This type of intimacy is common for them, and – when there are no sods from school around to call them queers – Conor often finds himself playing with Eamon's hair, or lacing their fingers together. 

Soft touches between the two cause Conor to feel a certain way, a feeling that he can’t quite place. it’s like…nausea and joy and fear mixed all into one. Conor thinks maybe this is what smoking pot is like and that’s why everyone was obsessed with it in the 70s. 

-

At eleven fifteen, Conor breaks the silence. 

“Me mum’s having an affair.” 

Eamon stops playing and stares back at him, unsure what to say. “Err—”

“At least i think so,” Conor continues, “I’m not quite sure. that’s what Brendan says.”

There’s a few moments of awkward silence. Eamon coughs. 

“Have you brought it up with ‘em?” 

A scoff from Conor. “as if…me dad’s too off his rocker already, I’m afraid he’ll start beatin’ us if I bring it up.”

Eamon stares, again. Conor stalls for a moment, then realizes what he’s said and flushes. 

“…Oh, sorry Eams.” 

“’s okay, mate.” 

Conor looks down at his lap, where his hands rest. “I think they don’t love us,” he clenches his fists, eyes watering a bit. “Brendan says they’ve never loved us.” 

Eamon looks up at Conor; they make eye contact. Conor looks away.

They’re silent for the next hour.

-

By midnight, the two have been laying like this for too long and Conor gets up to get them some water. When he walks back into the room, Eamon’s turned his back from the door, seemingly fiddling with something on his acoustic. 

“What’re ya doin’, eams,” Conor sets the glasses down on Eamon's keyboard. usually, Eamon would nag at him for damaging the equipment, but the boy says nothing, not even a peep. “Something up with you?”

Eamon turns around, looking up at Conor. “C’mere,” he mumbles, an unknown expression on his face. 

Despite his confusion, Conor takes a seat on Eamon’s bed, one of the bunnies scampering out of the way. Eamon sits on his desk chair. He looks to the floor nervously – Eamon’s never nervous.

“Seriously, Eams, are you mute or somethin’? what’s with y—”  
Eamon cuts Conor off before he can finish. “Shut up, Con, seriously. just listen.” Conor raises his eyebrows, but shuts it, and listens attentively to his friend. “ I wanna, erm…play a song for you. It’s not original, sorry, but,” he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking at the ground this entire time. “Um. yeah. just listen.” 

He clears his throat and lightly begins strumming – the tune from earlier, Conor thinks. and then he starts singing. 

Eamon doesn’t sing to anybody, let alone Conor. He’s always been insecure about his voice, saying he’s just the guitarist, and if you wanted a back-up singer, you should’ve hired the Jackson 5. 

Nonetheless, having Eamon sing to him was an opportunity only a select few experienced, so Conor listens closely. He has to strain to do it but manages to make out the mumbly-lyrics. 

_‘show me how you do that trick_  
_the one that makes me scream’ she said_  
_‘the one that makes me laugh’ she said_  
_and threw her arms around my neck_

Conor examines Eamon’s face as he plays – he does this cute little thing where his nose scrunches up, quite similar to a rabbit’s. Conor smiles. 

_you,_  
_soft and only_  
_you,_  
_lost and lonely_  
_you_

Eamon messes up on the chords a bit, his finger slipping, a note falling flat – he cringes, curses at himself under his breath. Eamon never misses a chord; this doesn’t deter him, though, and he keeps singing.

_strange as angels_  
_dancing in the deepest oceans_  
_twisting in the water_  
_you're just like a dream_

They’re both silent for a second, and then; “That was beautiful,” Conor says, the same time Eamon blurts out, “You mean so much to me, Conor”. 

His face flushes, eyes widening behind those wire-frame glasses of his that conor loves. “Err—sorry, i…um…” he trails off, face now just as red as his favorite electric. Panicking, he jolts to his feet. “I think you should go.” 

Conor stops him, grabbing Eamon by the wrist and bringing him back down to the bed. “Hey, you don’t have to apologize,” his voice is soft, and calm. “You...you mean a lot to me, too…”

Eamon’s gaze flickers down to Conor’s mouth. He holds his breath. 

“Is this ok?” Conor asks, his hand letting go of Eamon's wrist and coming up to the back of his neck.

“Y-yeah,” Eamon says, but it comes out as a whisper, his throat dry. “Yes.” 

Neither boy moves, not wanting to ruin the moment. Simon licks his lips and opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, but – 

Conor rushes in too fast to kiss him and ends up bumping his forehead against Eamon's glasses. Their teeth clash together painfully, and they both freeze awkwardly before breaking into a fit of giggles, Conor falling backward on the bed with a huge grin on his face.

They’re still snickering when Eamon leans over Conor and their lips meet, thankfully with no injuries this time. 

“Very smooth, Cosmo,” Eamon has that cocky smile on his face that he knows Conor hates. 

“Oh, says you, Mr. ‘err—um…uh’.” 

Eamon just laughs, flopping down next to Conor. They fall into a comfortable silence, holding each other. 

“Hey, Con?” Eamon's voice rings, turning to look at his friend.

“Yeah?” 

“I love you, y’know.” 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> thnx so much for reading!! u can follow me on tumblr and yell w/ me abt sing street! 
> 
> https://ootsongs.tumblr.com/


End file.
